January 8, 2027.
Ryan’s texts had become a quiet habit.
Nothing overt. Just… consistent.
Good-morning memes.
Links to design articles.
“Thinking of you” when he saw something that reminded him of me.
I showed Damien most of them.
He read.
Nodded.
Smile tight.
“It’s fine.”
But the air changed when Ryan’s name popped up.
Then the message came late.
I was in bed, Damien asleep beside me, phone on silent.
Vibration woke me.
Ryan (1:12 a.m.): Can’t sleep. Remembering that dance at the holiday party. You looked incredible. Still do, I bet.
I stared at the screen.
Heart picking up.
No reply.
But I didn’t delete it.
Next day, he followed up.
Ryan: Sorry if that was too much. Just being honest.
I replied.
Me: It’s okay.
He took it as encouragement.
Texts more frequent.
Fli
